


Silly Love Songs

by apolloswinecask0225



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Café Musain, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Crushes, Duet, F/M, Falling In Love, Guitars, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Music Creation, Oblivious Enjolras, Piano, Pining Courfeyrac, Poetry, Sad Grantaire, Singing, Song Lyrics, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolloswinecask0225/pseuds/apolloswinecask0225
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac: 'I do not have a crush on Jean Prouvaire,' he thought to himself. 'Oh no! No, no, no, no, NO! Oh God, I have crush on Jean!'<br/>Jehan: 'Why are you doing this to yourself?' the more reasonable part of his mind questioned. 'He's only going to break your heart.'</p>
<p>or</p>
<p> Courf and Jehan becoming a dynamic songwriting duo where Jehan writes the lyrics and Courf writes the music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Crushes and a Peck on the Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm new here, and this is my first story on this site. I'm really excited to see what you guys think! Thanks and enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan struggles with his poem, and Courf decides to lend a helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm new here, and this is my first story on this site. I'm really excited to see what you guys think! Thanks and enjoy!

     “Jehan! Jehan! Where are you?” Courfeyrac called to his roommate, sounding as if he were in dire need of something.  
     “I'm in here,” he heard the poet respond from the room on his left.  
Courfeyrac smiled excitedly and sprang into the next room, landing noisily on the neon rainbow center rug. To keep himself from slipping and falling, he was forced to grab tightly onto the arm of the floral couch upon which Jehan was seated. Courf looked up and smiled almost embarrassingly at the small poet that sat before him. He gaped at Jehan, noticing every minute detail about him, some of which that may seem unimportant to others but mesmerized the love-struck Center. He noted the way his ginger braid rested peacefully on his bare shoulder, observed the way his delicate fingers moved gracefully in time with his pen to create a wonderful work of art through intricately woven words, and and practically melted at the way his lips lifted just the slightest bit from their melancholy state when Courfeyrac had bounded in, those lips he wanted to kiss, bite, lick... and, oh God, what was he thinking?  
     'I do not have a crush on Jean Prouvaire,' he thought to himself. 'Oh no! No, no, no, no, NO! Oh shit, I have crush on Jean!'  
     He knew it as he stared into his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that shone like the stars, moon, and sun all packed into one glorious ray of beauty, and he better stop staring before it gets awkward.  
     Jehan, on the other hand, did not pay any heed at all to Courfeyrac's incessant gawking- or if he did he gave no indication- and instead focused his full attention on the notebook sitting wide open on his lap. What was scribbled down in the notebook, however, completely contradicted his actions. A love poem, dedicated to the one and only Center, filled the once blank pages of spiral-bound book.  
     'Why are you doing this to yourself?' the more reasonable part of his mind questioned. 'He's only going to break your heart.'  
     Jehan couldn't help it though. The way his dark curls lay angelically atop his head, almost like a black halo meant to signify the man's utter goodness. The way he smiled, so kindly, so innocently, his dimples emphasizing the sheer amount of sincerity put into such a simple friendly gesture. And above all the way he was just there, never judging only listening to any and all of your problems, fears, and desires while inserting a comforting word here and there in the way only Courfeyrac knows how to do. Everything about him just rendered the poet senseless, and he feared that soon he would be unable to control himself. Actually, he was already unable to control himself. He was writing poems about the man, for God's sake, and none of them were in any way platonic.  
     As he read through his latest poem once more, Jehan let out a frustrated sigh. No, not a sigh, a groan. Courfeyrac, startled by the sudden noise, jumped back slightly.  
     “Jehan? Are you alright?” he asked, cautiously approaching the poet.  
     Jean whipped his head around as to face the curly-haired man that stood before him.  
     “What the fuck do you think?” he snapped.  
     Courfeyrac was very taken aback by this sudden outburst. It was so unlike the Jehan he knew. He didn't understand where this anger was coming from, but he still felt the need to help the little poet with whatever was upsetting him. Jean, on the other hand, sighed apologetically as he spotted the genuine hurt and concern behind his friend's eyes.  
     “I'm sorry, Courf. It's just... this poem it's... it won't... it's so...(shit)...just... I don't know. Not right.”  
     “Could I take a look at it?” Courf asked sweetly, extending his hand to receive the poet's words.  
     Jehan was hesitant at first. Hundreds of thoughts ran through his mind all at the same time.  
     'Will he know it's about him? If he does, how will he feel? Will he reject me? Dammit, I don't know if I can take rejection from _him_ right now!'  
     Finally, he decided he had no other option than to hand over his latest work to the eager Center. Courfeyrac took the poem gently, almost as if it were the most valuable item in the universe, and began slowly scanning through it. He hummed- yes, fucking hummed- as he read. It was a tune Jehan didn't recognize. It was soft, inviting, and simply beautiful above all else. It served as a calming wave, washing over Jean with a new sense of peacefulness and overall tranquility. He felt significantly more relaxed as Courf finished with both the poem and his humming.  
     “Could I borrow this for a while?” Courfeyrac asked, smiling earnestly at the poet, who looked more dumbfounded than anything by his request.  
     “Oh, um... sure. I mean... you can just keep it if you want,” Jean shrugged.  
     “Really?” Courfeyrac questioned, smiling on a level that came very close to being extremely creepy.  
     “Yeah. Maybe you can find someway to... improve it.”  
     “Oh, thank you, ma fluer! I know just the thing to make this poem sparkle!”  
     Courfeyrac kissed the poet chastely on the cheek before practically skipping out of the room. Jehan just stared, mouth hung open in both bewilderment and awe. Subconsciously, he brought his hand up to lightly brush the spot that Courf's lips had so tenderly graced just seconds ago. He smiled dumbly as he reluctantly turned his attention back to his work. It was no surprise that his next poem just happened to involve kisses from a certain someone whose name may or may not be Courfeyrac. OK, whose name was most definitely Courfeyrac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I promise to try to make the next one longer. I think if this story is well-received I'll probably attempt to make the concept into a series. Thanks again! I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible.


	2. A Favor from Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courf calls up Grantaire and some others to help him present his masterpiece to Jehan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! It's been a little while since my last update, and I must apologize for that. It's just that soccer season is now in full swing, and I've been having multiple practices and games each week on top of my regular school work. Oh well. Enough with the excuses. On with the story.

It was finished! It was finally finished! He'd been cooped up in his room for hours, fiddling with his keyboard and copying notes onto blank sheets, but he'd finally finished it. Now the only thing left to do was to present the “masterpiece” to Jehan. He thought for a moment, contemplating whether to waltz back into the living room and simply hand over the pages of sheet music or display it in a flamboyantly sweet “Courfeyrac” sort of way. The choice was obvious, and it was quite apparent what he'd decided as he fished his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He began scrolling through his rather extensive list of contacts before abruptly stopping at the one labeled “Boozenezer Scrooge.” He hastily tapped the green call button and waited impatiently for his friend to pick up.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey! Grantaire! I need you for something!”  
“Ugh...Courf. What do you want?”  
“Well that's a nice way to greet your best friend!”  
“It is when your best friend's name is Courfeyrac!”  
“Come on! I'm not that bad!”  
“Oh yeah? Are you forgetting the time you dragged us all to Disney only to get us arrested? Or just last month when you called me to try out your phone sex techniques?”  
“OK, that time at Disney was not entirely my fault! It was you, Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel who decided to get completely shit-faced before going on the “It's a Small World” ride. And Enjolras was the one standing on the tables in the Magic Kingdom, yacking on and on about how Disney is some wicked ploy thought up by 'evil capitalist masterminds.' My constant pantsing of the employees was not that big a deal.”  
“Mm-hmm...”  
“And you know that phone sex thing was purely for the purpose of business!”  
“Business?”  
“Yeah, I was practicing to get a part-time job as a phone sex operator.”  
“Really? You made me ask you what you were wearing and then proceeded to describe in excruciating detail the thong that was riding up your ass!”  
“Well, apparently you were not a good practice partner as I am currently unemployed. Anyway, you got me off topic.”  
“Not a hard thing to do.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Just listen.”  
“OK, listening.”  
“So you know how to play guitar, right?”  
“Yeah...”  
“And you said before that some of our friends are, in fact, musically inclined.”  
“Your point?”  
“I need you and anyone else you know who possesses the ability to play an instrument to meet me tonight at 7:00 sharp.”  
“Where?”  
“I'll text you the address.”  
“Fine. It's not like I have anything better to do.”  
“Thanks, man. See ya then.”  
“Yeah, see ya.”  
Courfeyrac ended the call and quickly typed out the address of the meeting place before hitting send and shoving the phone back into his pocket. Looking down at his watch, he was surprised to learn that it was already 5:30. Deciding that it was best to check in early and prepare for the other musician's arrival, he hurriedly slipped into a “clean” (meaning they'd been worn maybe once or twice in the past week) pair of jeans and pulled on his favorite gray t-shirt that pictured a colorful pinata and read “I'd Hit That.”  
As he grabbed his keys from the kitchen table and turned to run out the door, he shouted to his roommate, “I'm going out! Be back in a couple hours!”  
“K! Stay safe!” Jehan called back.  
Courfeyrac blushed at this. He thought it was absolutely adorable when the little poet concerned himself with his well-being. Then again, he thought everything Jehan did was absolutely adorable.  
“I will!” Courf replied as he exited the apartment.  
His face was still furiously red as he hopped into his car.  
\---------------------------------------------------------It's peanut butter page break time----------------------------------------------------------------  
Grantaire was (surprisingly) the first, other than Courfeyrac, to arrive. It was apparent, however, that he was not alone as he strode in arm and arm with the one and only Éponine Thénardier.  
“'Taire! Éps! How nice it is to see you both!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, sprinting over to get a hug and practically tackling them in his haste.  
“Ugh. You too Courfeydork,” Éponine gunted teasingly, as grunting is all a person can manage when they are having the life squeezed out of them.  
After being forced to endure several agonizing moments of the Center's clingyness, Grantaire'd had quite enough and commanded that they be freed. Courfeyrac slowly loosened his grip and smiled apologetically at his friends, uttering a small “sorry” before moving onto other topics of interest.  
“So... Éponine, I didn't know you played an instrument.”  
“Yeah, I play bass. Grantaire taught me. It was a good way to escape from all my family shit for a little bit. Also helped to get my siblings to go to sleep when they were scared. I'd play and sing for them and they'd calm down,” Éponine replied, shooting a look at Courf that seemed to say 'You breathe one word of this to anyone and I will scoop out your eyes from your skull with a spoon.'  
“Cool, well the instruments are over in the corner, so if you guys want to pick out some guitars and start practicing...” Courfeyrac suggested, pointing out the conglomeration of instruments he'd gathered in the far right corner of the room.  
“Oh, sure. Come on, Éppie,” Grantaire grasped the girl's arm and virtually dragged her over to the acoustics.  
“Hey! I'm perfectly capable of walking without you towing me, 'Airey!” Éponine half scolded and half joked.  
Courfeyrac couldn't help but giggle at the odd pair. After all these years, they still used the nicknames they'd given one another in childhood. It made them feel safe. It was there little way of reminding each other that no matter how much they fuck up or how drastically things change, they'd always be there. They'd always be the one constant in the other's life. They just somehow worked together. They were similar in every way, yet different on so many levels. Their relationship was complicated. Sometimes they were father and daughter. Sometimes they were mother and son. Other times still they were brother and sister. Always, however, they were best friends, never apart even if miles away.  
Courf was pulled – no, yanked from his thoughts as he heard the ear-splitting ring of an out of tune bass guitar. He whipped his head around to find the source of the offending noise. What he found was Éponine, with her hands covering her mouth, in a state of embarrassment and an amused Grantaire shaking his head in feigned disappointment. Courfeyrac could only laugh, unable to control his own amusement.  
As he stood there chuckling, his back to the entrance, he felt a sudden tap on his shoulder. He turned around slowly, still laughing of course, but was unprepared for what he saw. There, right in front of him, stood a 7 foot tall monster clown. Its red eyes glowing wickedly beneath a mop of wild orange hair, sticking out in various places, and a ravenous expression giving way to rows of razor sharp fangs. Even the outfit this monstrosity wore seemed intimidating. A white shirt covered in rainbow polka dots had been stained with what appeared to be blood and was tucked into a pair of overly large black leather pants. To top it all off, the thing wore spiked combat boots probably two sizes two big on both of its feet. The image was enough to make any man pee his pants.  
“Holy fucking shit!” shrieked Courfeyrac.  
He jumped backwards in shock and landed flat on his ass. As the monster slowly approached him, he let out a fearful whimper and curled into a ball for protection.  
“Please don't hurt me, Mr. Clown Devil, sir,” he pleaded. “I'll do anything you want, just please don't hurt me!”  
Courfeyrac trembled as he heard the monster's feet continue to clomp towards him. Suddenly, however, the noise stopped. The thing was no longer nearing him. Instead, it began laughing. Yes, fucking laughing.  
Courf raised his head, confusion replacing the utter terror spread across his face. As he looked up he was met with an interesting scene. Grantaire and Éponine both stood, still in the corner of the room, cracking up, and directly in front of him the monster was roaring in laughter. Wait, roaring in laughter?  
“What the hell is going on?” Courfeyrac questioned, perplexed and unsure of what was happening.  
That's when he saw it. The head of brownish-red curls popping in from around the corner, the “monster's” shedding of his mask, and the grinning face of a certain rowdy member of the gang.  
“Bahorel?” Courfeyrac stared in awe, not believing the caliber of prank his burly friend had just pulled off, and against him, of all people!  
“Hey, Courf,” Bahorel winked, “How's it going?”  
“Good. Good, that is, until you almost made me shit my pants!” Courfeyrac nearly screamed, pushing himself up off the ground.  
“Oh yeah, about that, you can blame Grantaire. It was all his idea,” Bahorel grinned, displaying what was left of his pearly whites. “I am very happy, however to hear you admit to being scared shitless.”  
Courf's eyebrow shot up in confusion as he turned to look at the drunk artist, who had abandoned his spot in the corner and was currently occupying space quite near to the Center.  
“Care to explain how this is 'your fault?'” Courfeyrac questioned, looking remarkably humorless.  
Grantaire shrugged, an expression of complete indifference being the only thing he would give away.  
“While I was lazing around my flat a couple weeks ago, I came across an old sketch I had done for some college art course. It was a fairly good sketch, one of my better ones, I must say, and it depicted a 'monster clown' much like the one that just recently almost put you into cardiac arrest. Well I looked at it, and I said to myself, 'Self, do you know who this would really scare the living hell out of? My best buddy, Courfeyrac.' So I came up with an elaborate plan, had Feuilly design and make a costume from my sketch, and now here we are.”  
Courfeyrac shot his gaze over to the red head who had entered the room and was now making his way over to the group.  
“Feuilly?” Courf asked, feigning sorrow. “You were in on it too? That hurts man. That hurts deep.”  
Feuilly stared straight back at the Center and mirrored his mournful expression.  
“Courfeyrac?” he began, mocking Courf's lugubrious tone. “I don't give a fuck.”  
“Well-well you guys are all assholes.” Courfeyrac crossed his arms, glaring daggers into each and every one of them, except for Éponine, who in Courf's mind was now practically a saint.  
“Yeah, yeah, drama queen. Can we just get started?” Bahorel charged impatiently.  
“Alright, Mr. Pushy, we'll get this going.” Courf replied. “However, first I must provide you with instruments. What do you play?”  
“The drums,” Bahorel promptly answered.  
“Hm. I didn't take you for a drum kind of guy,” Courfeyrac smirked.  
“Well, let's put it this way. Would you rather have me pound the drums or your scrawny ass into the ground?” Bahorel asked somewhat jokingly.  
“Point taken. Feuilly?” Courf inquired, turning his attention to the young workman.  
“I'm more of a keyboard man myself,” Feuilly responded.  
“Great! So is that it here?” Courfeyrac queried, quickly surveying the room with his fast-moving eyes.  
“Should be,” Grantaire returned. “By the way, how did you end up getting us this rehearsal space?”  
“My cousin, the one with the uni-brow and creepy Gary Busey face, works at this studio,” Courf explained.  
“Oh. Cool?” Grantaire half-asked, giving the Center an addled glance.  
“Yeah, so speaking of rehearsal, shall we begin?” Courf questioned.  
Everyone agreed wholeheartedly and dove right into the first verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed the second chapter. The next one will probably be a short one about Jehan. It looks like I'll have some free time on my hands though to do the next few chapters, so hopefully I can get those up for you soon. No promises though. ;-) Oh, and I'd just like to take a moment to thank everyone who has left comments, left kuddos, or simply read my story. You guys are awesome! If you want to make any suggestions or send me a prompt, you can find me on tumblr at http://phantom-barber-in-red.tumblr.com/ . Thanks again everybody!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I promise to try to make the next one longer. I think if this story is well-received I'll probably attempt to make the concept into a series. Thanks again! I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible.


End file.
